Scratch the Surface : reSurfaced
by starfairy14s
Summary: [Moderate Rewrite of the Original] - Modern Japan AU - One of several takes on applying the Naruto storyline to a modern day setting, exploring more or less the usual Slice of Life themes, with a lean on studying the chemistry of certain pairings. Also Hinata is a Lolita and Naruto is a former yanki.
1. You'll Look Back on a Day Like This

Scratch the Surface

Ch. 1 - You Forget, You'll Look Back On a Day Like This

She doesn't want to do this in front of so many people, she doesn't want to look this way. She's folded over the restaurant table, forehead firmly pressed against the plastic, so no one can see her face, but they're likely to recognize her some other future unseen day, whether by her hair, or by the way she frowns, or simply because she exists to be a sticky substance inside the dank corners of their subconscious. She's just that type of girl. You never really remember their names, you just remember they were uncomfortably miserable.

She's clutching her compact mirror, somehow feeling in control when she does. Perhaps guarding her reflection is like guarding her soul. Within that circular little glass is another part of her that she strives for but can never yet be.

She just looks like another teenage girl in this family restuarant, as if dumped by her first love. Her friends were ther. Tey sit loyally by her side, maintaining a conversation of their own as if to show that nothing is wrong, nothing is different.

She's a quiet girl. Pale skin, pale eyes, and dark hair worn long with blunt bangs that sit softly above her mascara-thickened eyelashes. They don't mind her quiet nature because beside her is a young woman, stoic and cool, whom they've known long before she joined their little circle. At times she gets a sense the young woman is silent as if out of solidarity for her, because she's still awkward and new among them, and it is this persistent feeling, (that she's a square peg pushing through a round hole), that reminds her... reminds her of a lot things she doesn't really want to think about.

A comforting weight settles around her shoulders. Her stoic, beautiful friend has a strength to her touch, and it's always appreciated through every head pat, half embrace, squeeze of her hand. The tension in her body leaves, not all but just enough, and she concedes to the loss of the day, her sixtieth attempt, maybe sixtieth-second.

It's a known fact among Tokyo Lolita that if you wander in front of the _LaForet_ building in Harajuku, that you're bound to get noticed by the main photographer for _KERA_. If he likes your look, you're considered a true trendsetter. You're doing something new, something just unique enough to have people say 'this is right, this is where the style continues to evolve'. It's something she really does want to get right. It's something she's felt invested in for a couple years now.

She's too shy, dark and weird to be a competent cog in the workforce. If she can excel at something seemingly superficial, then mayhaps she can live off of that. She's thought ahead for a long time now where she wants to be. She hates thinking about where she actually is, and where she's always been, because it's just the same.

There's desire in her, despite her fragility and avoidancy, it is perhaps one of the main things that drew these three people to her.

Desire cannot be entirely useless.

She can't truly be entirely useless.

* * *

A house is just walls that happen to have doors, should you choose to leave or stay, and windows, should you choose to look out and see what's beyond them. You domesticate a bird, you teach it to fly back to its perch no matter how long you leave its cage open. This house is exactly that cage.

She has her homework sheets, print-outs, and textbook pamphlets spread meticulously across the _kotatsu_ surface. She sits with the comforter snug over her legs, her back straight and head high for her father while she pores over her studies. This is her home mask, her _tatemae_ so to speak. His expectations for her are clear and well understood. There was a time where she only seems less and less capable of upholding them. In those memories she can't help but wonder what was ever wrong with her, for her to have been a child of such difficulty that she couldn't process and perform the standards he had set for her; for them all, in fact. Even her little sister knew better, caught on quicker - although, perhaps it helps to learn from the mistakes of others.

She pauses as she realizes her left hand had been unconsciously raised to tuck some hair behind her ear when there was no hair loose at all. Yet the urge remained, however irrational though it was. She drops her hand back down and pushes a sigh through her nose.

There's no strand. There's no strand. There's no loose strand.

Then there's another inexplicable urge while she tries so hard to focus yet ignore, the urge to push aside a need to maintain hair that is already maintained, an urge to pretend that she doesn't need to stretch a little from her position, anything to tell her that she's not under the weight of his peripheral supervision.

Another bird has flown in. He smoothly sits himself down across from her with a thick book in hand, never acknowledging her beyond the space she has taken atop the _kotatsu_, and resumes reading his thick book as if it's none of her business. His face is handsome though blank, and he wears his dark brown hair in a long ponytail that hangs loosely from the base of his neck. His detachment rivals that of her father's, though she imagines he refuses as well as she does to follow in those particular footsteps. However, were he to agree with her, there would be no camaraderie in it.

She can finish this equation easily.

She gets up instead, and heads for the toilet.

She can't withstand the extra weight of his presence at times. He carries with him an immense chip on his shoulder, in the shape of herself. She puts up with it. She shudders it off. She suppresses her anxious noises. She shrinks herself smaller day by day, because she cannot fly out on her own yet, she can only expand her hiding spaces by becoming smaller, and smaller.

She misses her cousin. But he does not account for one her desires.

* * *

"I'm going now," She calls from the doorway. Her little sister scuttles out of the house shortly after her, and they're making the familiar path to school.

The silence from home stretches beyond its boundaries, these girls its carriers, as if sustaining itself on the hard-faced gloom sitting behind their eyes. There's a certain amount of distance maintained between them, a more deliberate effort from Hanabi than from Hinata, who is more reluctant than anything else. As if to drive a nail for the umpteenth time, Hanabi speaks up, the only time she ever does to Hinata.

"Are you going to forget? You forgot last time."

"I didn't forget last time, I wasn't paying attention."

"Then pay attention. My friends almost saw you."

"How about_ I_ walk ten feet in front of you instead?" Hinata releases a subtle sigh beneath her breath, not caring if the rolling-of-her-eyes in her voice is less subtle.

Her little sister is a waifish mini-Cold Front, dressed cutely in white and pre-teen arrogance. She had been a sweet thing before, like an octopus of affection, but then she had turned four. She had wondered where her mother had gone until she had finally forgotten her face, her smell, her voice... Hinata imagined if there was a hole within Hanabi, that it had steadily grown over the past seven years, eclipsing her capacity to care for others. Hinata thought she would indeed prefer to be ahead of the Cold Front, than follow right behind it.

And she begins to philosophize her surroundings.

Everything has a line, there is no definition without a contour. The trees are distinct. Electricity courses through crisscrossing power lines above the streets, between homes and apartments, from the ground to the sky. Houses are separated by cement or brick fences, family names adorned at the entry for the daily postmen. She has lines across the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet, and pulsing blue lines beneath her skin. There is both connection and separation in lines. She is not connected to her sister, nor is she sure if she is connected to herself. The shape she feels within herself does not properly adhere to her visible outline; it warps, wavers and wobbles. She is neither fully herself nor more than herself. For the most part, she has accepted her vagueness. It's been with her for more than a decade.

She is sixteen, and this is her normal.

* * *

"Sanada."

"Present!"

"Ishida."

"Present."

"Inuzuka."

"Here."

The homeroom teacher coughed discreetly, "Please say 'Present'."

"My bad, Sensei. I'm here."

Their homeroom teacher face-faulted with a heavy sigh, while a few classmates broke out into quiet chuckles.

"Hyuuga."

"Present." She uttered evenly, though compared to the majority of her classmates, her soft voice stood out painfully loud, painfully different from their own, and hearing herself speak still bothered her, even now at the halfway point of her first year of high school. Though she felt pathetic, she couldn't help but turn around to observe her surroundings, maybe nobody was looking at her like she think they were. Inuzuka-kun's eyes connected with hers before she meant them to and he smiled warmly at her, suddenly, too suddenly. She swiftly withdrew from the brief connection and instead tried to burn a hole through her desk, with what? The fierce feeling behind her eyes, or the fierce heat building within her face?

Her hand slapped suddenly to her mouth.

She was blushing.

_'No, no, no, no, why, why, why?'_ She began to obsess in her anxiety. What was mortifying her more? The smile itself? The fact that it happened? Or was it how she was reacting to it? Did she even like it? She felt somewhat excited, but sometimes excitement still felt like fear, it just wasn't like the heavy,feet-dragging fear that naturally birthed within her chest. But somehow this was fear she could relish in, the kind she could try to stand up to and stare down into submission so that she could play along, not be played with.

She let her fingertips slip from her lips, and she tentatively back around to face him. His gaze flickered back over to her and the same grin gently blossomed on his tan face. She accepted the connection and smiled shyly back. His grin stretched a bit wider before turning back towards their homeroom teacher.

She had no idea if anything was going to become of this, she readily believed nothing would, but she felt pleased with herself, jittery and warm.

If the opportunity ever arose, she would explore this type of interaction.

* * *

There's an unused classroom in this school. Just beyond it is some modest construction that this portion of the school is going under, so no one bothers with the Northeast corner other than the workers who leave and enter through the stairwell above the gymnasium. She usually nods a greeting if she passes by a contractor or whomever and they nod back and leave her be. They recognize her as a student and have no reason to mind her regular migration to the empty classroom during lunch period. And in here she has arranged the desks and chairs into a simple barricade, all except for one chair and four desks that she has pushed together to make a decent sized table.

This was officially her own little space.

She had her _mooks_, her smartphone for music, and her thermos and bento (with a lovingly packaged dessert to go with it).

She grasped the circular grip in the _fusuma_ and carefully slid it aside, as if this were a special ritual that, if not done correctly, would activate a cursed barrier that would banish her access permanently.

_'So far, so good,'_ She smirked inwardly at her own silliness. She's had to have been here a hundred and eight times already. But then her right foot seemed to refuse to connect with the ground. She was stopped awkwardly in place, not believing she could proceed further in.

Something wasn't right. Something was terribly not right.

There was a foreign shape, through the crisscrossing of stacked desks and chairs, she could see the outline of a boy, another student.

She sank to the ground, as if to hide from detection, her eyes so wide, her heart beating out of control.

There was no where else in the school like this, no where this secluded, this softly lit, this absolutely-perfect-for-her, and... and... and... someone had discovered her best kept secret.

She could clearly see the angular shape of his shoulders through his white Y-shirt, straight legs from boxy hips curled atop her makeshift table, memory creases newly forming behind his knees of his uniform slacks.

_'No, no, no, why, why, why, why?'_

Frustration was ready to pour from every orifice in her face as she withheld as best she could, her left hand clasped firmly against her mouth and nose, ready to suffocate herself if she had to. If she passed out, then all the better. Complete darkness was highly welcomed than dealing with the tumultuous circling of disappointment and aggravation right now.

She wasn't sure she had anything in her. She had thoughts and considerations, such as shoving her wall of desks onto his prone form, or try to behave so effectively angry that she scared him out, but no, these scenarios remained just that.

He knew this place was here. What was stopping anyone else now from finding her small haven?

She couldn't have that happen.

If she tried to confront him, she better have a bluff. And it was this thought that finally spurred her. For the most part, boys were reliably hurtful. They gleefully neglected boundaries and took what they wanted, whether it was one's dignity or possessions, as long your smile faltered and fell away, they could walk off satisfied.

To hell with that this time. She was going to be in control. Not them.

Somehow the closer she got to him, the larger he seemed to become, as if three times her size. She couldn't will away the tremor in her small hands. It always felt like this, actually. They always were bigger than her, made sure she was as far down to the ground as possible, whether they repeatedly kicked and shoved her down, whatever they could do, they made sure they towered over her, made sure she knew she was small, nothing. At this moment she was standing, scared, and staring down at an unfamiliar form and feeling three centimeters tall.

_**NO!**_

Anger made her kick the chair from his feet, and when she didn't get immediate recognition, she kicked aside the desk directly under his legs, then the one supporting the rest of him. He fell hard and suddenly on his right shoulder, eliciting a low, confused groan from throat. She took a half-step backwards as he rolled gingerly onto his stomach, shook his head once, twice, moaned, adjusted his weight on his elbow and carefully pushed himself to kneeling. A nervous fist at her chest, the way she clenched and unclenched was as if she were trying to maintain grasp on her resolve, because she now stared down an unfamiliar back, broad and winding, and a shock of wild, bright blonde hair.

_th-thump th-thump th-thump_

"G- G-Get out," Pathetically soft-spoken, but her demand was firm. She had noticed when she kicked the chair from beneath his lazy feet that he was wearing worn black Chucks, not the school issued indoor shoes all students wore upon entering the building. No way to know for sure if he was her year or and upperclassmen, without the color-coding on the toes. He had the uniform, but unless he regularly pressed his clothes (and she doubted that), he looked just like the other boys did on the first day, all crammed in polite lines during welcoming ceremony. She was starting to become sure that she would have noticed his blonde hair before, yes, there was no way she could forget shocks of blonde like his. She pursued forward, uttering the most vague blackmail that could come to mind, "I know wh-who you are- S-So you better get _out_."

Oh, he had stiffened at her words.

He stayed silent, simply pushing himself to standing with careful, almost dragged out movements.

The sound that hit her ears was gravelly, unsure, and straddling between embittered and irritated.

"Is that right?"

"... Yes."

_No._

He still did not turn to face her, only seemed to pause in deliberation as he stared at the floor or his shoes, she didn't know. He stooped down and placed the chair back on its legs. Shortly after he fell back into the seat, body tense before slouching with a heavy sigh.

"... And what are you going to do about it?" He asked, those words like an arrow shot centimeters above her scalp. Her hesitant stammering lost her her footing. "There's no one for you to tell, am I right, _Loner_?" That was an arrow lodged where her ribs joined. Damn, he caught her out easily. But wait, did he admit that there's something to tell? She shook her head, she couldn't be wondering right now. In fact, that was what she had been betting on. No way someone her age hadn't done _something_.

"They don't have to hear it from me. ... E-Either way, I'm s-sure it would hurt your chances a-at sh-shaping your new high school life t-to your liking," She had no idea what she was saying. These words were so unlike her. This antagonization was truly unlike her. But her chest was on fire now and she had to keep going, not because she already started, but because she was... how she felt, she was... and looking at him, sitting heavy and tense in the chair, a hand tightly gripping the back of it as if he might snap it in half, looking at him there she felt... a boiling, a bubbling, an undeniable force pushing up her throat. For a moment she was small again, down on her hands and knees in the snow and sinking in her own shame, their laughter clear in her ears though their faces blurred in her tears.

She was bigger now.

And she told him again.

"Get out."

He shoved the chair aside, a hard screech cutting through the silence. The desk banged and rattled. He was before her faster than she could process, looking down on her, hardness and blackness swirling in his blue eyes, desperation and fury.

"Like hell I'm going to be pushed around by a city girl," he rasped, a large hand grazing over her right shoulder, before digging down into her cashmere. She flinched with a yelp.

_'Oh god...'_

She was bigger now.

And he was bigger still.

Boys would always be bigger.

Always.

Always.

And their games would change, they would become worse and worse... because in adulthood, there's so much more they can take away.

She tried to pull away and he wouldn't let her.

Her body twisted like she wanted to cower, but god did she refuse. No way she would further shrink because of him. But he curled his other hand over the collar of her uniform, jerked her off her feet and forced her backwards on her heels, pinning her against a wall. She was dizzy. Heart racing arrhymthically. Breathless. Face burned cold. She forced her eyes back open. She shut them tight, and wept quietly to herself, conceding to her fate at his hands. If she had instigated this much, how much more could she be asking for?

"... You've got balls," He murmured, the rasp of his voice soft and warmed with mirth. Her eyes snapped back open but she could not look up at him, yet his small smile hovered within her peripherae, toying with her anxious, excited state.

His fingers released their hold of her, and she slouched against the wall, having little ability to hold herself up on her own. She wasn't sure what made her crane her head back, if it was the dizziness or the tingling relief slowly settling in, but she looked into his face directly, took in all of his features, and for a moment she was sure she would pass out.

Bright blonde hair, unkempt, wild, a little greasy.

Clear blue eyes, an overwhelming swirl of emotions within, pulling her and causing her to sink yet again, although somehow differently. He was regarding her, in a way that she could not fathom.

Light tan skin, and cheeks marred with hair-thin black lines, as if he were an animal.

"We should be friends." He said.

She had no response to give, because she finally succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

Star - Hope this second re-write is alright, I don't mean to be so all-over-the-place fickle and junk, ugh. OTL


	2. Tragic Heroine Syndrome

Scratch the Surface

Ch. 2 - Tragic Heroine Syndrome

_"We should be friends."_

_She stared at the outstretched hand before her, all the while hiding her split lower lip between her teeth. She never heard words like that before, never to her at least. The boy who gazed kindly back at her was older, a sixth grader. She'd seen him in the halls before, his shaggy white hair was hard to miss. Wow. He really said that to her though. She had felt so sure he had been looking her away before too, but she always found some justification for denial, she couldn't understand what a budding preteen was possibly seeing in a little kid like her._

_"Why?" She didn't know what possessed her to say that, but it was too late and she was genuinely curious. His eyes flickered down for a second and she knew he saw it, the fresh injury dividing her lip, a diluted smear of blood across her front teeth. She pushed back some loose hair behind her ear as she ducked away from his gaze. Her heart is beating fast in her tiny ribcage and she cannot remove what she had seen from her mind, the way his gentle smile faltered when he saw._

_"Wouldn't you like to be friends?" He replied upon recovery._

_"Th-The y-year is nearly over, you're going t-to graduate and f-f-forget about m-me." It was matter-of-fact, but it sounded so much more emotional now that she heard it. She accepted not having friends some time ago, she stopped anticipating for them, believing that she simply wasn't meant to live out the sort of childhood her peers were having. This was just __**insensitive**__._

_His hand fell to his side before reaching up to sheepishly hold the back of his head._

_"I'm sorry," An awkward silence stretched, as if he had meant to say more but kept the words in his throat instead. "... I think you're cute."_

* * *

Hinata startled awake, gasping as if she hadn't had breath for so long. Her head tossed this way and that, wide eyes scanning the room, taking in her personal space, for any sign of the actual intruder she knew to be there. She threw herself back onto her feet, hands fisted as she tried to regain her bearings, and slowly as the panic began to subside did she understand that she was alone.

She gathered her bag from the floor and swiftly snuck out of school.

She decided she was done for the day.

* * *

Alone in a convenience store bathroom, she felt like grieving. Her head craned back against cold, painted metal, she squinted at the cieling, all heaviness and hollow clinging to her insides like visceral fat to vital organs.

Did she have to remember him?

Did she really, really have to?

He said she was cute. Cute to him. Cute to him back then. They were children. He might as well have not ever seen another female in his young life before he saw her.

Was she still cute?

Would he see how she's grown and still think she were cute?

No, that would do nothing for her. That would prove nothing to her.

She didn't give a shit if he was attracted to her, that's why; He did nothing for her, could only mean nothing to her. His attraction was an empty obsession from her side of things. It may not even have been real at the time; that particular fact nudges and nags at her frequently from subconsious shores. It stings her eyes and clutches her breath, withholding her exhale.

Genuine experiences were few and far between.

She didn't believe in others, didn't believe there was someone who could help her tangibly see herself as she was, how she really was and really looked.

She couldn't even do it for herself.

Cuteness had no meaning.

* * *

Cuteness means everything.

When you're an eleven year old girl.

Hanabi prides herself with this notion because it is easy. She smooths down her hair with a boar bristle brush when she alone in her room, when she is standing in front of a mirror in the girl's bathroom at school (the one at the top floor that nobody uses), on the bus ride to Cram School, and after her shower just before bed. She saves up her allowance (she likes to tell herself, but Hyuuga children are equipped with credit cards like a birth right) to obtain things like BB cream, collagen mask packets from the 100 yen store, and precious balm that she can rub on her lips and cheeks for a cherubic rouge.

She's very talkative, which is a trait of popularity.

She's precocious with a silver tongue.

She's decisive and cool.

"63, 64, 65, 66, 67..."

And everyone thinks she's cute.

Hanabi pauses in front of the mirror and puts the brush down on the sink.

She believes her reflection glowers at her, as if looking down on a stranger. Someday it'll stop looking at her like that. Someday it'll look kindly on her, and smile.

Her cellphone vibrates suddenly in her dress pocket, and she walks towards one of the stalls as she takes it out and turns on the screen. She smiles at the message glowing back at her and locks herself inside the stall, ready for a lengthy conversation with one of her many friends.

Because she's talkative, and that makes her popular.

* * *

It's somewhat of a ritual for her to be in line for coffee, except this time she's here roughly five hours early. Cram school isn't until much later. Nonetheless there's comfort in routine, and she desires nothing more than to hole up in the back of the store and hide herself behind a glossy book.

Karui was known to ditch school halfway through, now that Hinata thought about it. She had no idea how far she went to school, but she decided to give it a try.

**Hinata: K-san?**

** Karui: Whoa, hey there. This is a first. You textin' class or wat?**

**Hinata: No, I uh... I actually went AWOL.**

** Karui: Reaaaaaaalllyyyy? •̀.̫•́**** Lil sis, I am interested in this new development of yours. **

**Hinata: A-ah, yes... Uhm... well the thing is, I don't have cram for a few more hours...**

** Karui: Whoawhoawhoa, why even go to cram school? You're a rebellious young blood now, aint'cha?**

**Hinata: K-san, that's not|**

Hinata paused before backtracking to retype her reply. She simply didn't plan to miss cram school, she never even meant to bail on school in general. Those details didn't seem utterly important to Karui however. Plus, she didn't want to open up the gossip gates to her internal problems, and even though she could trust Karui to respect her space after enough pleading, she simply didn't feel up to peaking her interest at all today. Just the mere hint that something was wrong was enough.

She didn't want anything to be wrong.

**Hinata: Do you want to hang out for the time being?**

** Karui: Sure thing, sounds fun. So, wat, is this a fluke or smthn? You gon go back to the way things were and all?**

Hinata was taken aback by that statement. Her hands felt cold suddenly, her face flushed and her heart was racing.

She was... scared.

** Karui: Lemme know if ya ever have a rebellious whim again, and I'll def show ya a good time. Whooa, that sounded so flirty man, hahahaha! My bad!**

Hinata closed the display of her phone and stuffed it into her skirt pocket, her eyes skittering side to side across the store, wondering if anyone knew _something_, knew anything about her by just looking at her, if they had somehow seen the texts or just... could see right through her. Maybe all the security cameras of Tokyo have been rigged to follow her and only her, to broadcast her life to everyone around her via some mysterious and awful app.

"Hello, I can help you," called the cashier, a siren of politeness that cut through her dire reverie.

She realized that she hadn't moved after the last three customers and hurried herself to the front. She promised she would reply Karui back right after her order, so that they could hang out. She had already asked after all.

After making her order of a medium Caffè Americano and two cinnamon rolls, she opened up wallet and was confused.

Her cash was missing.

Pushing aside her confusion, she reached for her debit card and handed it to the young woman, as if she had merely paused to recognize which card she wanted to use.

As soon as she could, she sat down somewhere close by the pick-up order counter and dismantled the insides of her wallet.

Debit card. Credit card. School ID. Library card. Various business cards and personal cards, ranging from heads of departments within her father's business to the family accountant, and her own health insurance. Everything was here. Everything but the ten 1,000 yen bills she definitely had in her wallet.

_"We should be friends."_

Her heart stopped.

Blonde hair, whisker marks and a smug smile popped up in her mind.

She had to catch herself against the counter, an anxious hand pressed firmly against her forehead.

_"We should be friends." He curled his other hand over the collar of her uniform, jerked her off her feet and forced her backwards on her heels, pinning her against a wall._

_**The countertop was digging into the center of her spine, but he wouldn't listen. This hug was strange. She couldn't move. No- he didn't allow her to move, he didn't want her slipping away. He didn't want to experience her rebuff. He held his left thigh firmly against her preteen groin, rubbing it there in such a manner she never expected a boy his age to do.**_

_She forced her eyes back open. She shut them tight, and wept quietly to herself, conceding to her fate at his hands. If she had instigated this much, how much more could she be asking for?_

_**This was happening because she agreed to be friends with him... right?**_

Hinata quickly ducked her face behind her hand and caught her tears on her sleeve, then forced the rest of them back inside herself with a lengthy sniffle.

She stared ruefully at her dismantled wallet, like she were looking down at her own emotions; a disconnected, drifting pile of shame and confusion.

Surely it was that blonde boy who had taken the money from her wallet.

She didn't know whether to laugh or sigh.

* * *

Having a broken forefinger made it difficult to grip his cola can. He'd splinted it himself after he had been chased out of that empty classroom by a nosy construction worker. The boy cursed when he nearly dropped his can, cola spilling over his hand and onto his shirt, the distinct scent of whisky rising up to meet his nose. He was only glad no one else had been there at the time. Running headlong into a wall and smashing one of your fingers on impact because you chose to look over your shoulder that very second, well... he certainly wouldn't be winning any intelligence awards.

He took a swig and rested his forehead against the crook of his elbow, still trying to shake off the scare that tingled up and down his back. That really freaked him out back there, and the more it replayed itself in his mind, the more wrong the whole situation appeared. There was just so many weird details screaming at him from afar.

He knew the construction worker had caught him taking money out of the ballsy, soft-spoken girl's wallet, but the man didn't react to him as quickly as Naruto had first thought. He had been watching, at least for a few minutes, before intervening. What made him realize this was because he had heard the door slide aside, but had gotten distracted when he caught sight of a torn piece of hate speech at the bottom of her school bag. He still wondered if she knew that was there. At the time he believed that she hadn't, the way it sat crushed beneath her possessions.

Then suddenly there was a masculine scream, a stream of indignant accusations as if he were protecting his own daughter from a predator. He got out as fast as he could because he thought for sure the older man would try to kill him. The first time he looked back on the events he thought the spike of adrenaline had exaggerated his perspective, but the severity on the man's face did not lessen in his mind. And that was one of the weirder things screaming at him.

He was just _way_ too pissed off.

And what was he doing there, anyways?

Did he know there'd be a high school girl all by herself in that room?

"Damn..." He muttered grimly, a simultaneously relieved and wry smile playing on his lips, as creases formed along his forehead, "... of all the times for me to be there."

He lifted his head and stared out at the city skyline from atop his roof, watching the orange, pinks and blues drain from the clouds as the sun crept further below the horizon.

The jealous fury on that man's face would not leave his mind, and it jarred with the interaction he had shared with the doe-eyed girl.


	3. Crybaby

Scratch the Surface

Ch. 3 - You Can Call Me Crybaby, What I Call Myself is So Much Worse

Karui struts through the crowds, hands warm in her pockets, and a cherry-flavored cigarette pointing forward from her lips like the bowsprit on a ship. She loves when the people part as water around her. Despite her cocky aura, she feels anything but as she walks further through these streets.

Vulnerability was a nasty little word in Karui's eyes; no way she would associate it with herself.

But nonetheless...

_'This place...'_ She is growing ever more shifty-eyed and nervous. Once you crossed over the other side of those tracks at Shinjuku station, you found yourself in a wild, seedy, chaotic, _'and yet so damn charming,'_ place.

This was not her Shinjuku.

No, this was Azabu, Foreign Embassy central and, well... She's just put off by the sheer class of her surroundings.

She released a sharp sigh through her nose after brushing too close to a Suit.

"Goddamn, she goes to school around here?" She mutters, pushing her hair back. She takes her phone out and glances at the map; The coffee shop was coming up. She starts at a light jog, keeping her eyes up at the signs - it had taken her longer than she liked to get here - then she stops within a glow of orange pouring beyond the glass wall before her. Through the silk screen print of angular kanji, she caught sight of huge white mugs and book-reading folk milling about.

Karui hesitates, then sucks her cigarette down the butt and deposits it into her portable ashtray.

She crosses inside. The bitter, roasty and sweet scents mingling in the air hit her all at once. She thinks she may already received a contact 'high', from the smell alone.

None of the students here are her. Her gaze lingers on the young couples reading e-books side by side or chatting cozily around their drinks. The counter enters her mind, maybe an employee can help her find her friend - her gaze stops when she sees a tall, lanky man ordering at the front, decked in denim and studded leather.

_'His hair is so cool...'_

She has not yet seen a pompadour that tall and perfectly shaped. It surely defied gravity with all its might.

She mentally bowed to his hair as she made her way towards the restrooms instead.

Karui was surprised to find that the scent of coffee did not quite find its way in here. She believed the perfume of the soap was to blame.

_'Hm...'_

She sauntered over to the only occupied stall and it was also the furthest. She could see black socks and black velvet mary janes below the door.

Then her smartphone blew up.

She didn't bother with individual ringtones, so when she saw who it was, she glowered.

She swiped to answer anyways.

"The fuck you want, C-kun?" She smirked when she saw the mystery girl in stall number five suddenly straightened up at her voice. "Tch, Omoi's such a rat. Yeah, I ditched. Again. Haha, yeahhh, I'm soo goddamn repentant right now, hahaha! ... I'm with a friend... it's important! No, geez! I'm not with-! No, I'm not. Oi, you can fuckin' ask them then- There's no one for me to hand my phone to, idiot! I said I'm not with them! I'm in a bathroom!" Karui dropped her head with a sigh, bringing her free hand to rub at her temple and distract her from the embarrassment warming her cheeks. "I'm not on the toilet right now, no, stop sputtering already. I'm with a different friend though, okay? Don't be stupid, I've got all kinds of friends. ...Yeah, you don't know her," Karui snickered, "And you don't get to know her. She's a beautiful, baby cinnamon roll, too pure for y- Shut the fuck up, you dumbass!" Karui laughed, "Huh? You're shocked I'm friends with someone like that? ... Yuh-huh... uh-huh... Fuck you." She laughed again, "Yeah, alright, C, I gotta go- y- what? You're gonna tell him?" She sighed deeply, pinched the bridge of her nose and slunk against the bathroom tile, "Really, ya dumb shit? 'Cause I'm sure Omoi already has. What, ya gotta ride the 'Suck Up Train' all of a sudden? ... I already said I expect it. Omigoshyou'resofullofyourself, I'mdonebye."

Karui hung up. She was nearly tempted to light up right then, smoking in the restrooms like they do in the movies.

She crossed her arms and glanced down at the mary janes pigeon-toeing each other in a nervous manner.

"Hey," she called, as if she were trying to get a small, scared child to rejoin the class group.

The mary janes didn't answer right away, until "H-Hey..."

Karui smirked, "Wanna watch a movie?"

* * *

Hinata tries to rub away the dried tears on her cheeks, but she only looks more pathetic doing so. Karui has her arms around her shoulder, trying to cheer her up, telling her everything is fine.

Hinata will never tell of the panic attack that chased her into the restroom stall. Karui can go ahead and know the surface of her anxieties, but not their extent.

Far as Hinata was concerned, Toneri was nothing more than a really bad imaginary friend, or a demon from the moon who she briefly signed her life away to in exchange for... something. God, she wanted to smack herself so bad.

When Hinata arrived at Karui's apartment, she felt like a cat squeezing into a narrow box. She didn't know whether she felt ashamed of that thought of not - but she certainly didn't plan on sharing it with her, though.

"You want anything? Got soda, soy milk, C. C. Lemon, Rose &amp; Vinegar, Chuhai..."

"Soy milk is fine,"

Karui slid a glass of soy milk to Hinata, opened a can of Chuhai for herself, and sat atop the meager dining table in the center of the kitchen. She took a sip while sliding her finger across her phone screen, browsing through the movie selection and adding her choices to queue.

It was quiet.

"Was it a boy?"

Karui was answered with a startled shriek and the shattering of glass.

"Oh shit..!" Karui placed her phone down and grabbed two handfuls of paper towel. She rushed to Hinata's side, gingerly pressing the sheets to the palm of left hand. The dark-haired girl shook her head vigorously, and forced her tears back as well as she could.

"Th-There's g-glass inside..!"

Karui jerked her hands away and stared with wide eyes at the shiny wound. Then she darted off, out of the kitchen.

"Hold your hand up high! I've got this, 'kay?!"

Blood and milk rolled down her wrist as she kept her hand elevated, it made her cuff stick to her skin.

No sooner than it took for Hinata to raise up her arm did Karui return with a first aid kit, and tweezers ready in hand. Hinata glanced her way, and caught sight of a curious expression playing on her friend's face; one of affection and bemusement, embarrassment and self-awareness.

But what she said next unlikely had anything to do with what had been going through her head.

"Damn, what kind of boy was it to make you cut yourself?"

It was quiet.

Again.

Karui was blushing, and grimacing.

"I. Am. So. Sorry. That was poorly worded."

Hinata tried to still the shaking in her hands. She tried to swallow down the uncontrollable frustration rising up between her ribs. She was awash in a raging wildfire, the forest her innocence and tolerance. She fought to keep the smoke out of her eyes, her lungs, but the stinging was relentless.

She gave in and let the tears roll cold down her cheeks.

'_I will not have another panic attack, not so soon, not in front of Karui-san,'_

Better she let a few lone tears escape, than crumple against the table, openly whimpering her self-pity.

She wanted to say something to Karui, she didn't want her friend to think she was mad at her, she didn't want her friend know whether she was upset or not.

But she was upset.

Hotly so.

Karui maybe have regretted her choice of words, but she hit the nail on the head.

It didn't matter who or what kind of a boy it was who threw her equilibrium into disarray.

It only mattered that it was a boy.

No, it was three boys.

Five.

Eleven.

Eighteen.

And one man.

Each and everyone were self-involved disappointments.

How long she went trying to be patient, trying to be above it all; nothing's changed. Nothing's gotten better.

Hinata closed her eyes.

She took a deep breath.

"I-I'm mot mad, Karui-san," shaky and quiet, but not unconvincing. Her friend took her at her word and proceeded with the extraction and clean up.

It was quiet.

But this time it was okay.

"Uhm, hey…" Karui began, "Wanna order some pizza?"

The simultaneous stinging-burning discomfort in her palm told her, 'Yes. Yes you want pizza, you absolutely want pizza, with a side order of cinnamon sticks'.

* * *

**Karui: Hey, lemme know if ya ever need that hand redressed.**

**Hinata: Of course. Thank you so much, K-san.**

She puts her phone down and stares up at the ceiling, fulfillment eluding her, though after a night like this she knows she is meant to feel something, anything between pleasant and relieved, giddy or hopeful, she would choose any of those.

But she either forgot how, or she never truly felt those emotions before.

Home was so quiet that she could often hear the distant hum of her father's computer from his office, and the gentle churning of the dishwasher; clearing off yet another dinner she had not been present for.

Lately, if she closed her eyes and concentrated, stopped the humming in her brain and just quieted everything down inside of her, she could hear something new in the midnight ambiance of their home.

Her sister was listening to music.

Hinata couldn't help but smile, because it was a band that she also enjoyed.

Through the stinging in her hand and a stinging in her eyes, she hummed along and mouthed the lyrics.

Steadily, she shrank against the vastness of her solitude, floating out on dark waters in her little rescue boat of a bed, just humming to herself.

Hinata has a weird dream, maybe because of the Bancho movies she and Karui had watched.

_She imagines herself with her bangs parted from the side - wearing an overlong skirt and satin bomber jacket much like Karui - skipping school and hanging out in front of Lawson's, cigarettes and candy in hand, getting eyed by boys - then kicking them to the curb - night-drinking at lesbian bars and in the morning turning in homework sheets with cigarette burns next to their multiple choice answers._

_When she walks in on a group of boys bullying a smaller kid on the ground, she finds that it is her little sister, crying and apologizing, all too willingly exchanging her dignity for freedom._

_Hinata prowls over, then beats the snot out of those kids._

_Her little sister stumbles to her feet, tearfully runs up to her, tightly embraces her and is embraced by her._

_Meanwhile, her alternate father was a dogmatic businessman throwing influence at political parties like suet to pigs. In the background a regime was steadily building strength. They were members of the PTA, and they had just supernaturally resurrected the old Imperial Army. Alongside their zombie alliance, they produced clone-like Ojous into loyal soldiers right out of the wealthiest of private schools, with their color guard rifles and immaculate curls, lording their beauty and prestige over all others._

"_What are you doing?! You'll be destroyed on sight!" Karui cried as she tried to hold her friend back, her dark fingers curled tight around her shoulders._

_Hinata takes pause, glancing behind Karui to observe her cousin Neji bracing the ramshackle wall they hid behind, conflict and panic churning back and forth across his features. He has recently taken her side during these turn of events and she has reluctantly accepted him. He doesn't seem as prepared as she to handle the current situation, and it amuses her greatly._

"_That's exactly what my father's betting on."_

_Karui gasps._

_Neji has also thrown a look her way, and she takes pride in appearing more brave and heroic than him right now._

"_He's been behind this all along, I won't let him win! We've always beat up anyone who called us pieces of shit! Well now it's time we band together AS PIECES OF SHIT!"_

When Hinata wakes up, she doesn't remember this dream.

But she decides to part her bangs today.

* * *

Hinata hears a distant scampering downstairs, followed by the slamming of a door. She realizes that was Hanabi, making her own way to school today.

She doesn't stop to think about it.

Hinata walks a slower pace than usual, feeling like she has awoken in someone else's home. She tries to recollect memories that'll tell her who she is, and how she came to be here. She tells herself that her home has a healthy amount of photographs throughout, especially those of her mother. This home is oddly devoid in comparison. Where is the proof that people live here? Where?

She dawdles for the stairs and turns the corner.

'_One step… two steps... '_

She nearly collides into a shadow and her heart leaps into her throat. She looks up, eyes wide.

Her cousin is half a foot away from her, eyeing her with an odd look. He had practically flown up the stairs, nearly walked through her until he had stopped.

Hinata shrinks away from him. She does not make eye contact.

He's in workout clothes, she just realizes this. Sweaty, black tank top and heather grey sweatpants - he emanates with heat and a confusing aroma.

He must have been heading for the bathroom. He never has to compete for it during this time of day.

He's still staring at her.

What is he going to do?

Will he grab her by the collar, too? Just have a go and shove her away? Grab her long hair and make fun of her for its accessible length? Tell her the latest disparaging thing on his mind, because looking at her reminded him that he had so much to say about her?

" … Hinata…"

'_No way, forget it..!' _Hinata twists around and away from him, flies down the stairs faster than he had coming up, and she's slamming the door behind her.

* * *

The weird sensation of eyes boring into you was intensified by fives times their usual today.

Walking onto school grounds, she's been catching glances, as well as feeling stares at her back.

This sensation harried her towards homeroom.

The morning goes in a blur.

Roll call is made.

She stands when called upon to answer a question or read aloud a passage.

She grips the chalk firmly in her grip and adds her answer to the board with every amount of urgency writhing beneath her skin.

She knows she looks tense.

Those bemused expressions were aimed at her.

She pushes her bangs aside, tucks a long strand behind her ear and quietly huffs.

She needs to withdraw. She kept her thoughts forward, thinking only of lunchtime where she would study new material by herself.

It seemed that inspiration had finally burst from its incubation inside her head, and she found renewed ambition.

With that in mind, as the lunch bell finally rang, Hinata hurried off towards her sanctuary, downloading mook scanlations with amazing speed and intensity.

Crochet Peter Pan collars. Fur stoles and cotton dresses. Lace, and antlers, and flowers, and oxfords. Lots and lots of layering.

She would incorporate these elements and pursue one of the latest amalgams in Lolita fashion: Mori Lolita.

Some time ago, Hinata realized that the more complicated the detail, the more she drowned in it. And she didn't quite stand out in Classic nor Mature Lolita either. She was too baby-faced.

Guro Loli only proved time and again to be a disaster for her. She only tried it out because she couldn't pull of Shiro Loli properly either and found herself at a loss with her stash of plain, white nothings.

Hinata closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.

_'Alright, enough recounting my failures. This time for sure. This the photographer will notice me for-'_

A cold tingle ran up her spine, and she pulled her attention away from her enchanting study material.

Her eyes widened, she jumped back slightly, and managed to swallow down her 'eep'.

It was one of the constructions workers.

"Good afternoon, miss," He greeted, his previous glower disappearing altogether.

"... G-Good afternoon," Hinata gave a small bow, before timidly proceeding forward, towards the door of the unused classroom.

The construction worker departed soon after, heading back towards the work zone.

That really caught her off guard. That man had most of his head wrapped, including his right eye entirely obscured, then covered over with a plain, black eyepatch. Was that all from construction?

She allowed herself to shudder off his image before pulling the door aside.

Hinata stopped short, a gasp caught in her throat. Her mook slipped from her hand and fell at her feet.

He was here again.

Of course, he was here again.

No, not 'of course'. Why would he be here again? Why? He knew she came here often. He threw that fact in her face yesterday. Wait, yesterday…

_/_

_As soon as she could, she sat down somewhere close by the pick-up order counter and dismantled the insides of her wallet._

_Debit card. Credit card. School ID. Library card. Various business cards and personal cards, ranging from heads of departments within her father's business to the family accountant, and her own health insurance. Everything was here. Everything but the ten 1,000 yen bills she definitely had in her wallet._

/

That blonde boy with the funny whisker marks stops to pop out one of his earbuds and give her a sideways stare. His brows are quirked together, he appears both wary and perplexed. It's an irritating look on his face, because she was more justified to feel that way than him right now, wasn't she? He had the nerve to rifle through her things and steal from her while unconscious, and he was looking at her like - '_Wait… Does he think I wouldn't have noticed? Is he wondering if I'm going to retaliate?' _

Well, this was interesting. But did he even have anything to worry about? What on earth could she possibly do to him, that he couldn't do worse to her? No way he was going to be sorry for what he did. He should know that he can get away with it. Why bother gambling again? Her threats and pleas would just be thrown back in her face.

She looks away, refuses eye contact and glances down at her mook at her feet. She bends down and grasps it, pulling it close to herself whilst keeping her head low.

'_I'll just ignore him. I'll just pretend he's not there,'_ She decides, finding it the most efficient approach available to her.

And so she makes her way across the room, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to the furthest window from him and sits with her back to the room.

She pulls her headphones from her school bag, having taken notice of the utter noise blaring out from his; thrashing guitars, a fast-pace melody, and two singers drowned out by their own drums.

Soon enough his presence began to fade behind the lull of soft and slow acoustics, dreamy reverbs and even dreamier lyrics delivered sweet and raspy.

There was a distinct scraping across the floor. She paid it no mind, despite the slight tingle in her spine, but then the heavy footfalls; those grabbed at her attention. She regretted it immensely when the boy gave her that same sideways stare from where he was standing; now two windows down from her.

'_Focus. You have to design a new look in four days.'_ She pulls up her _Polyvore_ app and begins to log in. She briefly wonders if it would be possible to put some brown tones in her hair, instead of the blue that she was born with. If she had deep brown hair like her cousin and little sister, maybe she wouldn't look so harsh, washed out and dreary.

More footfalls.

'_What is he doing?'_ She turns her head ever so slightly, does her best to see him through her periphery. He was just… pacing around, looking at the walls, and the corners and the ceiling as if he had never seen them before. What made him decide to do that all of a sudden? He had already been in here listening to music with no one else around - if he hadn't been looking at his phone, then the only thing he had to look at was the room.

His gaze drifted her way and she about-faced immediately, hoping he didn't catch her looking at all. An afterthought; she also hoped he couldn't see the flush of color in her cheeks. She knew she blushed easily - it almost didn't matter what the stimulus was, she was a blusher.

Thinking more on it, she had a feeling his interest in the room was insincere. Perhaps her presence was uncomfortable for him.

'_Are we… going to have to fight for this space?'_ She really hopes it never comes to that, it would look so petty on her to stoop to that, but at the same time… She had been here first, and she really didn't want to be the one to compromise. If she had to do that at home, then fine. If she had to do that as someone's subordinate, then fine. That was life, wasn't it? But in his own words, 'Like hell I'm going to be pushed around by a dumb boy'. She had to stop relinquishing control at every situation. She had to- **screeeech** \- Hinata whipped her head around so fast, her earbuds fell out and clattered against the floor tile, much like her train of thought.

She stared agape at the scrawl expanding across the chalkboard.

She couldn't figure out which was more baffling: The things he was writing, or the typoes he was making.

**MY NAME IS UZUMAKI NARUTO! I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD!**

**YOU WILL GREAT ME WHEN YOU SEE ME AND YOU WILL GREAT ME NICELY**

**YOU WILL INVITE ME AT LUNCH AND INCLUDE ME IN CONVERSIONS**

**YOU WILL NOT LOOK AT ME LIKE A GERM**

**I AM NOT A GERM.**

**I LIKE RAMEN, OLD MOVIES AND CUTE GIRLS**

**I'M GOING TO BE GREET SOMEDAY!**

He pulls a flask from back pocket, unscrews the cap and raises it to his mouth, "Also, I've been drinking," He takes a swig, pride shining on his face, "Any questions?"

She's dumbstruck. This boy, he's… wait… he's taken another swig from his flask, and he's just said… '_OMIGOD!'_ And he's taken yet another swig.

"... One does not simply drink _during_ school," She mutters beneath her breath. She knows for a fact that every single one of her classmates drinks, or at least has tasted alcohol, it's so commonplace. But never have they ever come to school buzzed, drunk or with a drink.

This boy is unbelievable.

His eyes move up and down her form briefly before a smile pulls across his face and he is looking at her in a smug manner.

"Thirsty?"

She stutters.

'_He's lewd!'_

She turns away from him, hoping her thick hair will obscure her reddened face from him.

It doesn't seem to affect him, however; from the corner of her eye, he is in fact leaning forward and staring at her even more. Such a mischievous expression. What young man would allow themselves to openly look that way? Oh right, it's only the two of them in here.

She huffs to herself, but then he speaks again.

"So what's your name, hm?"

Her eyes widen.

She turns carefully, only enough to be able to see him through the parts in her hair.

Is he serious?

The earnest gleam in his bright blue eyes told her, much to her concern: Yes, he is serious. No, serious isn't quite right. He is _sincere_.

Her mouth, it opens and closes like that of a koi fish. Her heart flutters with uncertainty, and no small amount of trepidation.

"Wh- W-Why sh-should I t-tell you a-anything..?" Her face burns as the words come out, whether she wants them to or not, they simply escape her lips, "Y-You're awful," she does not emphasize this. It's enough that she is matter-of-fact.

If this boy had been the sun in the afternoon - shining high and proud over the earth below - he was now the sun at twilight; colors dulling, vibrancy draining. No longer is he smiling.

He stares at her for some time, conflicted. He's allowing the wound to be seen more and more, little by little, until what once looked like a papercut now appeared to be six-inch-long roadburn on his ego.

"... What makes you say that, huh?" his voice is low, surprisingly subdued.

Her glare is brief, but the impression it gives is lasting.

"You stole money off of me while I was unconscious."

He diverts his gaze and shoves his hands into his pockets. He's slouching and he has this petulant look on his face.

'_So he's not denying it, then…'_ Hinata slowly withdraws her withering gaze to bring her attention back to her phone screen, intending to mind her business the remainder of the lunch hour. And yet she contradicts her intentions, by speaking - "I would have lent it, if you had asked." why she admits this, she has absolutely no idea. He could have bullied her and she gave him the money willingly, but the context she described involved him asking her.

He's staring at her, no longer sideways, but with big, blue-eyed surprise.

"Fuckoff, noyouwouldn'thave." It seems like he couldn't coordinate his words with his mouth. (It might be her imagination, but she thinks she sees a touch of color in his cheeks as well.) He's rubbing the back of his head, gone from bitter to dumbstruck to sheepish all in five minutes. When he begins to groan and kick at the floor, she pauses working on her project to observe him.

'_He's kind of strange…'_

"Would you really have?" His eyes plead with her. Did he… really have a conscience about this all of a sudden?

"... What was it that you called me the other day? A city girl?" She pauses upon noticing her voice drop down to a whisper at the last second. She turns away to hide her renewed blush. She stifles the embarrassment bristling across her skin. She didn't want to talk anymore, she didn't want the attention anymore, but she knew how odd that would look, how fickle. "... A-Anyways, I could have spared it."

She didn't realize it until she had brought it up, but being called a city girl brought up some questions.

'_Maybe some other time… maybe never…'_

If she was ever lucky enough to have her sanctuary to herself again, then she'd likely never get to ask him anything.

She was honestly okay with that.

"Hey…" He calls from across the room, subdued, a little bit nervous, "... What's your name?"

She tilts her head forward, her hair falls with the motion, and she is effectively hiding from him, as of ducking behind a curtain. Her heart flutters and constricts. She can't say she prefers him aggressive and testy, but she is just as put off by this civil and friendly version of him. She thinks she should left the moment she saw him. She thinks she should just disappear.

Her voice is whispery and folorn when she answers him. There isn't anything she can do about it.

"Hyuuga… Hinata…"

She didn't want to, but she told him anyway.


	4. We're All Strange

Scratch the Surface

Ch. 4 - Maybe We're All Strange

This girl...

This woozy-eyed, bursting-at-the-seams, emotionally-hypothermic... girl.

Naruto releases a deeply held sigh. He relinquishes his biases, criticism and doubts - at least for now - and is lighter inside for it.

There was so much about this timid little snowflake that perplexed him, frustrated him, and overall put him off, but at the same time he couldn't seem to be mad at her. Not for her diffidence. Not for her closed-off attitude. Not even for how fucking gloomy she looked; as if she were cursed with visions of the end of the world and it fucking haunted her every day.

_'Hinata, huh?'_

Somehow... Her darkness illuminated in the afternoon glow, deep purple and shimmery. Where the sun poured golden over her, she remained enveloped in moonglow. She resembled the whisper and isolation of midnight.

"... Well, it's not like I don't have a stupid name either," He muttered to himself.

"Excuse me?"

He jumped at his slight.

"O-Oh, me. I'm named after a fucking ramen topping, y'know," He laughs at this, sheepishly raking his fingers through his hair. "So, can I ask some things about you?" He's quick to change the subject as he gestures at the scribbles on the chalkboard with his thumb. "You can put it up here if ya like, ya don't have to say anything if you don't want to." He doesn't quite understand the needs of quiet people, but he figures it's not sharing itself that is difficult for them, but how they go about it. So letting her write for him was what he could offer her.

Yet despite all this, she is heading towards the door, intent on leaving.

He grabs her wrist.

"Hey."

Her hand balls up, but the rest of her almost goes limp; She's fully resigned herself, to what he isn't sure. To him, maybe. Or...

He runs his forefinger over her cuff. She flinches.

He inserts his thumb beneath her sleeve, ghosts a line over her pulse. He stands up, her wrist still firmly in his grip, and he leans in close to her, little by little, and she shrinks away, little by little; but at the same time she hasn't moved. He peers up into her face, but she refuses to look at him.

Girls never let him get this close.

They'd never even let him hold their wrist this long, let alone touch them.

She clearly would do the same, she too would rebuff him, but instead... it seemed as if she might.. . let him do as he pleased and grit her teeth until it was over.

A sharp jolt ran up his spine, cold and horrid. He quickly blinked away the images, internally laughing them off as best as he could. He knew he was a monster sometimes, but that he had those thoughts at all really left him uncomfortable with himself. That aside, she still had her hand fisted.

"Wanna hit me?" It was both a question and an offer. For one thing, a girl who could fight was a good thing. A girl who _would_ fight was even better. He didn't have a doubt in his mind that she could fight. It concerned him that she seemed to outright refuse to fight. In a situation like this but worse, what the hell would happen to her?

"What?" She still isn't looking at him, but she's squirming a little and she seems to be perfectly confused.

"Well the other day I got pretty physical with you, so I was thinking you should get physical with me back."

"Wh-wh-wh-wha?" Her voice dropped down to a breathy squeak in her throat. Now he really couldn't see her face anymore; not with the way she so stubbornly twisted away from him.

"You weren't scared to stand up to me, so I don't see what you got to be scared of now. C'mon, let's see what ya got!"

Was it weird that he wanted to get smacked in the face by a girl? Or that he was excited over it?

He brushed those questions aside as quickly as they had formed; they also gave him funny concerns with himself.

"Urk!" Naruto jerked forward suddenly. Hinata-chan had twisted herself out of his grip, the movement pulling him from his seat. "Wha-?" Before he could say anything, she was already halfway down the hall, her hasty footfalls echoing and fading second by second.

"Hey… " he called out to the silence.

It was strange.

Even though he was sure that she was just another sad brat like him, just another annoying obstacle in his day-to-day pursuit, just one more body on the train to knock elbows with and toes to try not to step on (literally and figuratively), well... she somehow managed to leave him with pervading disappointment.

He had to correct this.

He had to know that she would fight.

* * *

If any of the teachers caught sight of him, he could definitely kiss a fresh start goodbye. He could just imagine the biases early formed before he gets to stand in front of his classmates and introduce himself. But even with that in mind, he wandered the halls, surreptitiously stealing glances through the small windows in the class doors, trying to spot that somber ray of moonlight.

"Oh shit…"

Someone was coming up from the end of the hallway. His back tingled cold. He turned his eyes towards a classroom, and heaved a sigh, a mixture of nerves and relief.

The classes were wrapping up.

Maybe if he lingered enough he could blend in with them.

"Oi, you there."

"Fuuuuck..!" He ground out beneath his breath. "U-Uh, h-hey Teach, I'm just headin' towards the bathrooms." He forced a grin, hoping the older man would let this go. Eventually he did, reluctantly nodding with a grunt.

The hallway breathed to life as the doors opened. Indoor shoes squeaked along the clean tiles. Gentle chatter filled the air, steadily rising in volume and enthusiasm as the athletes, artists and otaku separated from the homebody herd.

He smiled a little bit, then he remembered he wanted to get ahead of the crowd and try to catch Hinata-chan out in the courtyard.

He turned around.

"Nevermind then…"

Long black hair and a morose expression. She was tense the way she edged herself out of the door, tightened up as if a piece of her could come loose and float away if she brushed up against the stream.

He didn't call out for her.

He kept an eye on her, followed her sad little head through the school, until they reached the shoe cubbies.

He lost her for a second. When she came back up however, it wasn't a natural motion but quick and jerky. She turned around flustered and faced the student who had stopped by to catch her attention. It was a guy, brown shaggy hair and skin not dark but deeply tanned. His body language was friendly, supportive. She nodded her head a couple times, indiscernible dips of the chin, but her eyes were clear and steady throughout the exchange.

Naruto pressed his lips together. The fist in his pants pocket uncurled and his shoulders dropped. The boy released his gentle hold of her shoulder, then waved her goodbye, leaving with a taller, sunglass-wearing friend.

"It's just like a girl to never be truly alone, huh?" Naruto turns around on his heel, and walks against the current, back inside the school. "Because they look cute no matter what, there's always someone that wants to help."

His fingers slowly curl back into a fist. He realizes he really didn't want that little moonbeam to slip away, but the more he thought about trying to talk to her - or rather getting her to talk to him - the more his purpose escaped him.

He shouldn't forget that she had stereotyped him right from the start, then followed up with threats of blackmail.

It pissed him off and he had retaliated by stealing money off of her bratty ass, but… she wasn't a mean person, she just wasn't. She tried.

Naruto knew where he was going. He wasn't retreating just to do so.

There's a restroom on the upper floor that a subgroup of the Going Home Club likes go to and waste their time. Every high school has them: The Cigarette Kids.

Naruto slips inside the stall before they show up.

Right on cue, the same pairs of feet shuffle into his field of view below the stall, the same voices and the same bantering.

He drapes his arm over the stall door and feels the familiar papery, thin cylinder between his fingers.

"Y'know, we're going to start charging you, guy," Ho-Hum Voice told him with a touch of humor, "500 yen a stick. Or you could come out and join us."

The Cigarette Kids don't know who he is; the first time they 'met', he had been inside the restroom stall and decided to keep to himself when they had entered. He only started bumming off of them a few weeks later, when it became apparent that they knew he was there but never questioned nor seemed to mind his mysterious presence.

Naruto hadn't expected an invitation like that.

Lit cigarette balanced between his lips, he blinked at his flask. It was nearly uncapped until Ho-Hum Voice had spoken. Naruto caught himself blushing slightly. But then he got an idea.

He dangled the flask over the side of the stall, inciting a crescendo of excited whooping from everyone but Ho-Hum Voice.

"This trade is agreeable!" One of the boys gratefully accepted the flask and took a swig before passing it around. They went back to their usual type of conversation: complaints over teachers and homework load, about cute girls and current crushes or current failures. Other times they spoke of parents and siblings, other times about hobbies or colleges. Instead, Naruto savored his cigarette, only listening with half-hearted interest. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched his smoke mingle with their own.

There was no way he could join them, at least not yet.

He couldn't really relate to any of those things.

* * *

Her skin burns in trails, like a fire that rolled a narrow path yet never spread.

She turns her wrist this way and that, as if trying to find a brand somewhere on her flesh. She thinks about her scars - little, insignificant ones here and there, childhood battle wounds - and thinks about to whom each scar belongs.

This boy has left no trace on her.

Perhaps the previous boy's name is just too crowded on her skin. Perhaps that's how it's going to remain; that she's simply too stained.

Hinata forces her gaze outside, watching as the darkened urban scenery blurs as the bus bumped along its route.

She sighs through her nose.

Here came another long night at cram school.

Another long night drowning herself in tedious information and her father's self-interest.

All Naruto has to his name is a futon roll, a prepaid smartphone, a space heater, and a toothbrush.

No television.

No couch.

No dining set.

Even a kotatsu, which he _yearned_ for, would be extravagant for him.

The shabby 1LDK house at least came furbished with a washer &amp; dryer, and a dishwasher. Except that he also didn't own any dishware.

But the microwave was a gift.

He took it.

His old friend Kimimaro wasn't going to have use for it anymore.

He hovered before it, head bowed as the digital numbers counted down. The whirring filled in the silence. Other times it emphasized it.

It chimed as it hit zero, and Naruto lifted his head.

"Thank you for this meal," he murmured, remembering his friend at a safe distance.

An hour later, Naruto is scratching his ass, halfway into an action-comedy martial arts film and his third can of _chuhai_.

"**I've been waiting for you, Hashirama!" The villain had been single-handedly annihilating fighters up until now, when his true rival and equal finally showed himself.**

**The hero stared down his former childhood friend with determination.**

**He swung down his arm, forefinger thrust as if preparing to state that he was going to take him down.**

"**I'll deal with you later!"**

Naruto snickered at the villain's face.

He stretches, he yawns. He has a nice chill going, he thinks, thanks to the alcohol, but it isn't enough to stop the nagging.

He slumps to the floor as if he were made of slime.

"Fucking boooored, ya knooow," he moans to the ceiling. The least he could do is raise a little money, he thinks, instead of chasing entertainment for entertainment's sake.

Sometimes he feels like weeping just standing in front of a vending machine. The price of living here in general was almost enough to make him lose hope. He found himself daydreaming of Nishinari a little more each day. It was a slum, but fuck it, that's why shit was so cheap there.

But no, he had to go and be cliche and come to Tokyo to prove himself back home.

He rolls over onto his side and stares at the wall just below the window. He shivers slightly, as if ignoring the cold had been working the whole time. He knows he needs a job. He should get a job. But he doesn't know how to get one. He's supposed to dress up nice, clean his hair, nose and ears, and probably his butt too, and go around asking if there's a spot open, if they've got an application he can fill out, and then he turns it in and he waits.

He was already waiting now, wasn't he?

Maybe he should have filled out an application weeks ago.

Maybe he should go try to fill out some now.

He stares at the wall.

"Gambling sounds fun right now."

* * *

_**Usamo: So, so~ Look what I've found in my sister's room. I've been borrowing it every night! [12:32 PM]**_

_**/you received a picture/**_

Hanabi's eyebrows raised. Her friend, though she could not see above her cocky grin, was holding up a genuine Louis V tote.

_**Usamo: Awesome, right? Wish you had one now, right? [12:36 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: Little bit. I probably could get one actually, it's just that my father likely wouldn't let me own anything else ever again. [12:36 PM]**_

_**Usamo: Shut up, LOL. [12:37 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: I doubt my plain sister has anything worth borrowing. She definitely wouldn't have a luxury bag, either. [12:39 PM]**_

_**Usamo: Cuz she's plain? [12:40 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: Mm-hm [12:40 PM]**_

_**Usamo: what about enjo-kosai? [12:40 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: WHOA WHOA WHOA. Now it's your turn to shut up. Wow. That would be a huge shock if that were true. Wow. [12:41 PM]**_

_**Usamo: You guys rly have money tho, huh? [12:41 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: That's mainly why it'd be a huge shock. I mean… we're just well off enough. A bored rich girl, y'know, she'd prolly date randos for cash and stuff, but we're still pretty surburban. [12:41 PM]**_

_**Usamo: If I were ridiculously bored with life, I'd prolly shoplift or prank film some randos and put it online. [12:42 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: Glad to know you've got your contingency plan already, lol. I'd prolly do the same, maybe. Or 'borrow' someone's condo when they're abroad. [12:42 PM]**_

_**Usamo: Ooh, yeah, that's infinitely better. And then you'd definitely have, like, TWENTY lux bags to borrow, haha. [12:42 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: Uhh, yeah… What would I even do with a bag like that? I look like a kid, cuz uhh I am still a kid. [12:43 PM]**_

_**Usamo: Are you kidding me? Are you telling me that becuz you are a kid, that you're gonna relegate yourself to Gatchapon and Hello Kitty? [12:43 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: That's not how you use that word, also it's My Melody. I don't like Hello Kitty. [12:43 PM]**_

_**Usamo: Whatevs, ya know what I meant, right? Nobody designs anything good for kids. I know you like the refined stuff, the stuff they make us wait for till we hit 30. So you telling me you really gonna. How to put this. Instead of dressing like you, you're gonna accept starry leggings and cat-ear hoodies? [12:44 PM]**_

_**Hanabunni: I already don't accept those. I've got like ten classmates that dress like that. They really don't seem to care what they're wearing. I'm pretty sure my sister was just like them. [12:44 PM]**_

But it had to have been their mother that did Hinata's shopping, right? Obviously that lasted up to a point, then Hinata must have started to do her own shopping...

_**Usamo: Well even so, she's a grown woman now. Maybe she's developed some taste. [12:46 PM]**_

That's right… because Hinata had to shop for herself at some point.

Hanabi turned away from her laptop and stared intently through her bedroom door, wondering how much time she had before Hinata returned from cram.

* * *

_I got guns in my head and they won't go/_

_I got spirits in my head and they won't go/_

_I got guns in my head and they won't go/_

_I got spirits in my head and they won't/_

Naruto turned his eyes upwards. He stared long enough to be disappointed; Tokyo was just too bright. Even from his roof he couldn't see the stars, not like he used to.

He couldn't pretend to blame the lack of stars for this isolation - it's been with him his whole life, it's the one thing that's been truly faithful to him. He couldn't pretend to blame Tokyo for his loneliness, either. There was no one that would've followed him out here; it just couldn't be helped.

Honestly there were days he found himself talking to his own shadow, but unlike Peter Pan's, his talked back to him, interacted with him. This was years and years ago, around the age where it was still safe to say he had an imaginary friend. How strange to think then that an imaginary friend could be so vivid. And the nasty things he had to say, Naruto had indulged in those words numerous times.

Perhaps out here he was chasing for more shadows, for company of the rawest sort, as if they may dull his own rawness in comparison.

Before leaving the house, he made sure to ditch the uniform. He threw on an old pair of jeans with well-earned holes at the heels and the knees, a white tee that was still a bit too big on him and a black and red athletic jacket. He slicked back his hair somewhat, resembling Tetsuo when he went insane in that movie, and obscured his face with a generic medical mask. What few people he managed to come by, they never paid him any mind.

Trouble was evading him in this part of town. He almost felt as if he were skulking after some woman, and she was peeking behind this door and that door, always keeping one step ahead of him and running off right under his nose.

If that were the case, then he better follow through those doors, right where she was hiding.

* * *

Hinata had followed the Moon until it lead her back to a playground.

It wasn't the same one they had shared in childhood, but she could pretend it was. She was so actively detached from reality that time and memories were blurring, past and present coexisting as one.

He was here and he was not here.

She was six and she was sixteen.

He was a boy and he was the Moon.

She was a girl and she was a figment.

She sat on the swing. Her schoolbag slid off her shoulder and slumped against the rubber pavement. She stared at her feet and wondered why they did not dangle, but were in fact anchored to the ground. Why did her body feel huge and heavy? The swing out of place? As if this were for preschoolers?

She nudged herself, backwards, then forwards, a little bit more at a time, until she started kicking again, lifting off, floating and drifting through the sky, and the Moon gazing down on her overhead.

The Moon once told her it would spare her.

She still wondered if it had lied or not.

* * *

A smile bloomed on his face.

Naruto recognized these sounds.

His heart quickened. Anticipation. Excitement. He found right where Trouble was hiding, he had wandered through the heart of the red light district just to get here. The exterior didn't seem like much. Pock-marked plaster and aged wooden frames. Remnants of old posters resembled graffiti tags on the walls, with the ink faded into the structure. The stench of smoke stung his nose.

It amused him somewhat, the thing about addicts; they never really have one vice.

He pulled aside the fusuma and stepped through the smog, and it was as if he were setting foot in a parallel universe.

The mania and the intensity, the tightly wound energy, the tangible anxiety in the air, it was getting to him. Maybe the smoke was getting to him too.

Masculine cries and cheers overlapped one another.

Suits with loosened ties.

Tracksuits with their sleeves pushed up, showing off their forearm tattoos.

And some other men flashy and badly dressed.

A wall of brawn and hardiness surrounded the gamblers within, their builds varied. A husky one with big arms and a broad back over there. Tall and lanky over, cracking his knuckles repeatedly, at least what knuckles he still had left. A petite skinny man with his stomach spilling over the belt of his pants, wringing his hands and ignoring the way his sweating was causing his comb-over to slide over his eyes.

Naruto wasn't sure whether to be amused or concerned by this particular civilian. On the one hand it's his choice to be here and do whatever it is he's doing, even if that's mostly losing, but on the other hand he may just end up sleeping drunk on the roadside by the end of the end of the night, and Naruto couldn't seem to accept that.

Sometimes it's different when those people are already there, in that deadend situation. Naruto doesn't think he can do much about it. But this small man, who clearly doesn't belong here…

Naruto elbowed him from aside.

"Oi,"

The man is startled, but keeps his eyes forward. Naruto only thought that was a little odd, but he understood that reaction. This man has mingled with Yakuza for a while now. And has mistaken him for one of them.

"You should leave, okay? I think you've played enough for the night,"

"W-Why are you..? N-No, n-nevermind, I can't leave yet…"

Naruto rubbed at the back of his head.

'_Fucking addicts,'_ He inwardly sighed.

"How much ya got on you?"

"Y-y-you tr-trying to rob me bef-before I even get ta play again?"

"Idiot! No. You're obviously a lousy gambler! You should let me win for you. Besides, I only got a little bit on me to start with."

The man hesitated.

"I'll split it 60-40. Wait, you got a family?"

"Y-yes."

'_Of course he does,'_

"70-30, alright? And don't keep making yourself an inconvenience to them like this. If you suck at gambling, you suck at gambling. Try something else."

Instead of handing over what money the man had left, his whole body drooped and he began to weep.

Naruto grabbed his shoulders and shook him roughly.

"Oi, knock it off. That helps nothin', y'hear me?"

He shoved his empty palm before the man, and after much fumbling from the latter, tens of thousand yen bills were place in his hand.

"I don't know how much ya need, but I'll try ta win ya just 'nough."

"A-actually, I'm about twelve mil-"

"No, no, no, don't tell me!"

Naruto pushed through the wall as quickly as possible, hoping to escape the man's answer as if his debt would transfer onto him like a curse. Naruto tried to pretend he didn't know the depths of the man's debt, but Naruto was only feeling heroic tonight, not Pope-like. In the anime and the movies, usually the hero does one badass thing for the wimp of the week and it fixes everything.

Naruto didn't really plan on fixing the man's problems and following through if he ever changed his ways and all that shit.

Naruto just wanted to do this one thing and feel like everything was going to be okay.

* * *

Hinata's room smelled of a mixture of rose tea and dried lavender.

Delicate.

Feminine.

Soothing.

Hanabi pushed through such adjectives and sought after the crevices and corners in which secrets would hide. She shined her smartphone flashlight upon her sister's bed, then over to the closet. It was partially open.

She glanced aside, shined the light on her sister's vanity dresser and saw more delicate, feminine, and soothing items atop.

A round, glass bowl filled with water and flower petals, and a singular unlit candle floating atop.

Two perfume bottles, one pale fuchsia and rose gold, the shape of a tulip bulb, with a lacey metallic cap and a crochet ribbon tied around its neck. The other bottle seemed rather vintage. It was glass, a muted blue, with a stopper. It resembled the flow of a dress as it began to settle after the dancer's graceful twirl.

Hanabi took a moment to smell both bottles.

The first one was light and flowery, and slightly fruity.

The second one, which she had expected to be a variation of the other, instead had deeper notes, expected of an older woman.

Did Hinata wear one for school, and the other for nights out?

Hanabi didn't think so. She sniffed at the second perfume and headed over towards the closet. After a while the notes began to evolve, the more she gently inhaled its scent.

Every time she closed her eyes, she thought she saw someone.

Every time she closed her eyes, wetness began to gather at the corner of her eyes, little by little.

Hanabi opened the closet. She shined the light upon its insides.

Finally, a fully grown tear slipped down her cheek.

There were photographs taped to the wall, just beneath a curtain of sleeves, and scarves. One photo in particular was smiling back at her.

The scent of the perfume was overwhelming.

Her heart was swelling, spilling over and bursting.

All Hanabi wanted to do just then was cry.

And cry.

And cry.

* * *

Hinata didn't know why she still had his number in her contacts.

She doubted he may have the same number.

She doubted him contacting her back.

She absolutely didn't know why was even reaching out to him.

Maybe she was was more scared to keep him away than keep him close.

Maybe she was just wanted know.

**Hinata: Did you mean it? That you would spare me?**

She sent it, without a moment's hesitation.

She might as well have been on chatbot for all she cared.

She never got her answer.


End file.
